


An Angel and a Demon (and Cher)

by BookishAngel (DisnerdingAvenger)



Series: An Angel and a Demon [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (or the product of me listening to Cher at 1:00 a.m.), First Kiss, Love Confessions, Multi, Post-Canon, The Fifth Day of the Rest of their Lives, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 14:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18367739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisnerdingAvenger/pseuds/BookishAngel
Summary: Deciding to lay low after the Nopocalypse, Aziraphale and Crowley go for a drink at a pub in London. The pub has a jukebox, and the Best of Cher tracks are giving Aziraphale Feelings™.





	An Angel and a Demon (and Cher)

Crowley had a tendency to… _swagger_ when he moved. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if it was a humanoid version of slithering, the product of watching too many action movies, or just because he wanted people to think he was Cool; whatever the reason, it often proved to be very distracting, which he, in turn, found very troubling. He was an _angel_ , after all, and Crowley was a _demon;_ allowing a swaggering demon to distract him had to be inherently sinful.

Then again, was it really any _more_ sinful than holding the aforementioned demon’s hand whilst actively trying to prevent the scheduled End of Days, fully prepared to face Satan himself with only a flaming sword and a tire iron to their names? That happened five days ago and he had yet to be cast out of Heaven for his actions; his halo was still intact and he could still feel the ever-present Love tingling at the back of his mind, just as it always had. Logic would dictate that, because he had yet to Fall, what he and Crowley had done couldn’t have been all _that_ bad and, in comparison, admiring the way that the demon swaggered seemed relatively small.

Still, Aziraphale found it troubling.

He was dithering over this while he sat at a table near the back of a rather smoky bar. He and Crowley had collectively decided that it would be best to lay low for the time being; they both knew that Heaven and Hell could find them, regardless of where they were, with relative ease if they really wanted to punish them, but it provided a sense of false security to spend their time in more secluded areas rather than out in the open or in more opulent spaces. Thus, their dinners at the Ritz had been downgraded to drinks in random pubs – much to Aziraphale’s chagrin. He felt that this development rather missed the point, for he stuck out like a sore thumb in his tartan and tan among the other patrons who all seemed to have collectively received a memo to dress in black, with smatterings here and there of red or blue.  

Crowley, of course, fit in perfectly. He never had trouble fitting in anywhere, no matter the time or the place. There had been a brief incident when he woke up at the end of the nineteenth century and had to refresh himself on the current trends, but he rectified his ignorance almost instantaneously. Aziraphale personally thought trends were frivolous and silly; if you found something that was comfortable, suited you, and was sewn to last, why would you throw it away a year later just because it was no longer ‘in style’? Crowley assumed it was his angelic virtue shining through – anti-avarice and all that – but it was far more basic in actuality. Aziraphale just found the notion of tossing away perfectly good clothes to be stupid.

However, he had no objections to Crowley keeping with the times; it wasn’t as if the demon actually _bought_ his clothes anyway. It wasn’t inherently wasteful to simply miracle away clothes you miracled into existence to begin with. Not to mention, Crowley always looked _good_ in the current trends – good, always, to the point of distraction.

This evening was no exception.

He’d dressed in the dark, tight jeans typical of the late 1980s, and he had on a red silk button-down underneath his black jacket. With his dark sunglasses perched on his nose, he was the epitome of style – which was just how he liked it (and, in truth, was just how Aziraphale liked him, too). They’d been sharing a bottle of cabernet (which was definitely of a cheaper, less tasteful variety before it reached their table, but they expected it to be top shelf, and so it was) when Crowley, with a frustrated groan, got to his feet. The bar had a jukebox (which Aziraphale found inferior by far to the pianist who played at the Ritz) and that very jukebox, since they walked in a half hour prior, had been playing nothing but “Fat Bottomed Girls” on repeat. It had been alright the first go around, and tolerable the second, but now it was just getting  _annoying._

With a muttered threat of “I’m going to give that _blasssssted thing_ a thumping,” Crowley ventured across the pub to deal with the situation.

No, he hadn’t ventured – he _swaggered_. He swaggered, all slim hips and long legs and frustratingly attractive arse, across the bar to bang on the side of the jukebox before pressing several buttons in an attempt to get it to play something, _anything_ , other than that single Queen song. Aziraphale had watched him swagger, fingers poised on the stem of his wine glass, with pursed lips.

_Why_ did he find Crowley’s corporation so distracting? Angels, by nature, were not overtly sexual creatures; they _could_ be if they so chose, given they had a human corporation, but it required an amount of Effort that very few angels felt was worthwhile. Sex for the sake of sex fell into the category of lust, after all, and that was dangerous territory – hence why Aziraphale found Crowley frequently driving him to distraction so incredibly _troubling_.

He may not have Fallen for preventing the Apocalypse with a demon, but he undoubtedly would Fall if he allowed a demon to tempt him into lust. Yet, here he was, clutching a wine glass for dear life and biting his lip hard enough to nearly draw blood, all because Crowley had decided to get up and “thump” a jukebox.

After a good five minutes of thumping, along with some cursing and a bit of kicking, the song finally changed.

_“You’re strutting into town like you’re slinging a gun; just a small-town dude with a big-city attitude. Honey, are you looking for some trouble tonight? Well, alright. You think you’re so bad; drive the women-folk wild – shoot ‘em all down with a flash of your pearly smile. Honey, but you’ve met your match tonight. Oh, that’s right.”_

Aziraphale absently licked his lips as Cher’s rich tones replaced Queen’s echoing harmonies, exhaling quietly as Crowley returned (via swaggering) and dropped himself back down into his chair with a snake-like slouch. Pursing his lips momentarily, Aziraphale lifted his glass once again.

“You seem to have shown that infernal machine who’s boss,” he remarked, taking a sip, and Crowley grunted as he reached for his own glass.

“For now,” he muttered, swirling the cabernet around and staring into its red depths. “We’ll see if it sticks.”

_“You think you’ll knock me off my feet till I’m flat on the floor; till my heart is crying Indian and I’m begging for more. So come on baby, come on baby, come on, baby, show me what that loaded gun is for!”_

Unaware that his cheeks were turning pink, Aziraphale asked, “Remind me who this is, again?”

“Hmm?” Crowley asked, looking up from his wine, his sunglasses having slipped ever-so-slightly down his nose – enough to allow the angel a glimpse of his yellow eyes. “Oh. ‘s Cher. Not my favourite, but you take what you can get.”

Knocking back what was left in his glass, Crowley reached for the bottle to refill it; thus, he didn’t notice the way that the angel’s cheeks were growing redder the longer he listened to the song’s lyrics.

_“If you can give it, I can take it, ‘cause if this heart is gonna break it’s gonna take a lot to break it. ‘Cause I know tonight somebody’s gonna win the fight. So if you’re so tough, come on and prove it; your heart is down for the count and you know you’re gonna lose it. Tonight you’re gonna go down in flames, just like Jesse James.”_

That was what he was ultimately so terrified of, wasn’t it? ‘Going down in flames.’ Even after all they had risked saving the world – after going into it with the certainty that it would, in all probability, mean damnation – Aziraphale was still terrified to Fall. He’d been able to rationalize it to himself mere days ago; he’d insisted that, in the grand scheme of things, Falling to save humanity would be worth it. But Falling just for a few moments of passion and pleasure with a demon - a demon who, in all fairness, made his heart beat faster and his infinite days a bit brighter, but a demon nonetheless? That wasn’t quite so simple to rationalize. Aziraphale was guilty of his fair share of gluttony and, on rare book-related occasions, wrath, but lust? Lust for a _demon?_ Even if that demon was Crowley, who could at times behave so angelically that it was as if he’d never Fallen at all, it didn’t change the fact that they were, _technically_ , on opposite sides – even now.

Crowley, who had finally looked up from pouring himself another glass of wine, paused said glass halfway to his lips when he realized that Aziraphale was practically _chugging_ his own. The angel was usually one to savor a good cabernet unless they had an objective of getting stinkingly drunk – and those occasions were typically reserved for the privacy of the bookshop.

“Alright there, angel?” he asked as the last few drops of Aziraphale’s glass disappeared. The angel placed his glass back on the table and licked a stay drop that clung to his lip. The demon’s eyes involuntarily followed his pink tongue.

_“You’re an outlaw, lover, and I’m after your hide. Well, you ain’t so strong; won’t be long till your hands are tied. Tonight I’m gonna take you in, dead or alive; that’s right. You break the laws of love in the name of desire; take ten steps back, ‘cause I’m ready, baby, aim and fire! Baby, there’s no way you’re gonna run tonight. Oooh, that’s right.”_

Aziraphale said, with false cheerfulness, “I’m fine, my dear,” while simultaneously refilling his glass, nearly to the brim. Crowley’s eyebrows both shot upward at the sight.

“I wasn’t aware we were coming here to get sloshed,” the demon observed as Aziraphale took a generous sip. Luckily for the angel, Crowley was attributing his red cheeks to how much alcohol he had consumed so quickly. Hesitantly, Crowley reached over and rested a hand atop Aziraphale’s before asking, “Are you _sure_ you’re alright?”

_“Well, you had your way with love - but it’s the end of the day. Now a team of wild horses couldn’t drag your heart away. So come on baby, come on baby, come on, baby, you know there ain’t nothing left to say.”_

Aziraphale felt his gaze instantly drift downward to where Crowley’s hand rested atop his. He was cool to the touch, just as he had been that day in Tadfield. It was strange, really; that was less than a week ago and yet it felt like a thousand years had passed with the way he had been dithering since. It had felt like such a _big thing_ , to take each other’s hand like that; an angel and a demon, united in their love for the Earth – for humanity and everything the human race had built – but… perhaps it was more than that.

Perhaps, as Cher was so eloquently singing, they were an angel and a demon united in their love for _each other_. Was that really such a mad concept? For any other pair, perhaps it would be, but not for Aziraphale and Crowley. Not for an angel and a demon who had been together since the Beginning; who had watched each other grow and change just as much as the Earth and humanity grew and changed. For Aziraphale and Crowley, nothing was black and white anymore; it wasn’t Heaven vs. Hell, Good vs. Evil, or anything like that. For Aziraphale and Crowley, things were rather grey; they were situated right in the middle, no longer two separate entities but one being instead. Not ethereal or occult, but… _earthly._ Somewhere over the course of six thousand years, they grew rather entangled, not entirely unlike the two ivy plants that twined together in Crowley’s flat. You _could_ look at them as two separate creatures, but it was easy to mistake them for being one and the same.

His heart leaping into his throat, Aziraphale’s gaze flickered up to Crowley’s face – or, more specifically, to his lips. Was it really lust if he was in love with the demon in question? Was it truly a sin if he wanted to cherish him as much as he wanted to push him to the floor and ravish him? His head was saying yes, it was, but his heart had other ideas.

For, you see, while Crowley’s swagger _was_ distracting, it was more so Crowley in _general_ that proved to be a daily distraction. There were plenty of non-sexual things that drew Aziraphale’s attention to the demon. Back when they had assumed varying identities at the Dowling residence, it had been the way ‘Nanny Ashtoreth’ would creep into his bedroom at night to curl up against him and leech some of his warmth; her thin, cold-blooded, dainty corporation had been no match for the old house’s drafty winter nights. ‘Brother Francis’ had found having her wrapped around him like a snake, her bony arms enveloping his belly and her head pillowed on his chest, to be _completely_ distracting; more than once, while that version of Crowley dozed in his arms well into the night, he’d put his book aside to instead wrap his arms around her body in return – not out of sexual desire, but because he’d wanted to keep Crowley warm. To keep her close. To keep her safe, even then, when the Apocalypse had still been years off. He’d loved Crowley, even then.

He loved Crowley now, to the point of distraction. He loved the way he flicked his hair out of his eyes while driving; he loved the way, despite not being a fan of be-bop himself, that Crowley sang along to whatever Queen song happened to be on the radio; he loved the way that the demon, for the past several nights in a row, had chosen to join him in the bookshop’s backroom instead of driving back to his flat, evidently preferring to sleep either with his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder or in his lap while the angel read the various new books that Adam had stocked his shelves with. He loved that Crowley needed to be near him, in the aftermath of the Nopocalypse, just as much as he needed to be near Crowley.

“Aziraphale-?”

After an extended moment of the angel just _staring_ at him, Crowley had begun to speak again only for the angel to silence him by reaching out and grabbing onto his jacket, tugging him forward and pressing their lips together in a fierce kiss. Crowley exhaled a startled noise that rather resembled _“ngk!”_ before melting forward, his own hands finding Aziraphale’s cheeks as he kissed the angel back.

He wasn’t sure what brought this on, but he was hardly about to protest. Given that he enjoyed a fair amount of sleep, he’d subsequently enjoyed a fair amount of dreams that involved kissing the angel in a variety of scenarios over the past six thousand years, give or take. They were always just fantasies, though; he’d come to accept a long time ago that they would never come to fruition. Thus, he was pleasantly surprised but very confused.

_“Tonight you’re gonna go down in flames…”_

“Aziraphale…” Crowley murmured, breathlessly, when they parted.

_“Just like Jesse James…”_

“Why?”

Blinking his blue eyes open, the angel allowed them to lock onto the yellow irises of the demon. Quirking his lips upward, he whispered, “Because I just remembered that love isn’t a sin.”

Arching an eyebrow, Crowley asked, “Did you… _forget_ that at some point, or…?”

Aziraphale, who really was quite tipsy, exhaled a giggle.

“No, my dear. I didn’t _forget_. I was just thinking…”

“A dangerous pastime,” Crowley joked, thumbs brushing over the angel’s cheeks, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes with his smile still in place.

“ _I was just thinking_ ,” he tried again, “about love, and… well, to be blunt, lust. I was thinking about lust.”

Blinking, his eyes widening, Crowley asked, “ _You_ were thinking about _lust?_ ”

“Are you aware that you tend to swagger when you walk, my dear?” the angel asked by way of response, and now Crowley was blushing.

“Er… well, sort of. I suppose. I think I picked it up during the Renaissance.”

“ _Ah_ ,” Aziraphale hummed knowingly, sliding his fingers over the expensive fabric of Crowley’s tailored jacket. “Those actors at the Globe Theatre _did_ have a certain swagger about them, didn’t they?”

“They did,” Crowley agreed, briefly glancing down as the angel fiddled with his jacket.

“Your Hamlet is still unsurpassed by modern actors, if I do say so myself.”

Smirking, clearly rather chuffed, Crowley asked, “You think so?”

“I do,” Aziraphale agreed, chuckling as he added, “There’s just something wonderfully _comedic_ about _your_ delivery of ‘get thee to a nunnery’ that no other portrayal has ever been able to match.”

“That was only ever funny to you, angel.”

“I know. But still,” Aziraphale hummed, leaning his forehead against Crowley’s. “I did have a point, you know. I’m afraid it’s gotten rather lost.”

Smirking, Crowley slid his hands down to rest at Aziraphale’s neck as he asked, “What was your point?”

“My point,” Aziraphale mused, meeting Crowley’s gaze, “is that I love you. I love you very much, my dear, and I have for a very long time.”

For a moment, Crowley forgot how to breathe. Thankfully, Aziraphale wasn’t finished speaking yet.

“Love and lust – they can go rather hand-in-hand with the correct person, can’t they? When you love someone, you tend to love the things that make them who they are – and part of who you are, my dear, is how you _swagger_. It often makes me think of rather unholy things.”

Swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat, Crowley asked, “…does it?”

“It does,” Aziraphale confirmed, brushing his lips over Crowley’s before he added, “but, as has just occurred to me, I suppose it’s _not_ unholy, is it? To think such things? It’s not unholy if I _love you_ – completely, and positively, to bits.”

“You love me to bits?” Crowley asked, breathlessly and rather in a rush, and Aziraphale smiled.

“Completely and positively, my dear.”

His heart beating erratically, Crowley stared at Aziraphale before admitting, “I do, too. Love you, I mean – completely and positively. To bits.”

His expression softening, Aziraphale asked, “You do?”

His lips quirked upward and Crowley nodded as he brushed his thumbs gently over the base of the angel’s throat. “I do.”

“Well, then…” Aziraphale hummed, closing his eyes and nudging Crowley’s nose with his own. “I really don’t think that wanting to take you home and make love to you is a sin at all, then, is it?”

Crowley exhaled a small, snake-like noise that made Aziraphale giggle again. After he pressed a kiss to the demon’s lips, Crowley was prompted to slide his fingers up into Aziraphale’s blond curls, latching onto him in a way that allowed him to kiss the angel until he was positively breathless. Afterward, he mumbled against Aziraphale’s lips, “No, angel… I don’t think that sounds like a sin at all. It _sssssssoundssss posssssssitively_ Heavenly.”

Grinning against Crowley’s lips, Aziraphale scooted his chair over enough that he could wrap his arms around the demon, humming thoughtfully as they hovered in each other’s personal space. The jukebox had changed tracks – to yet another Cher song, as opposed to the “Fat Bottomed Girls” that Crowley had dreaded would come back to bite him.

_“Well here we are again. I guess it must be fate. We’ve tried it on our own, but deep inside we’ve known, we’d be back to set things straight._

_I still remember when your kiss was so brand new. Every memory repeats, every step I take retreats, every journey always brings me back to you.”_

“You know,” Aziraphale murmured, shifting to rest his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “I think this Cher woman is beginning to grow on me.”

_“After all the stops and starts, we keep coming back to these two hearts; two angels who’ve been rescued from the Fall. After all that we’ve been through, it all comes down to me and you. I guess it’s meant to be, forever you and me, after all.”_

Grinning, Crowley angled his head to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s hair, letting his nose linger in his curls as he pulled the angel closer. Regardless of being cold-blooded, he felt warmer than he had in a long time.

As Aziraphale pressed his lips tenderly beneath Crowley’s ear, the demon mused, “She might be growing on me, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Songs featured are "Just Like Jesse James" and "After All", both of which are on the 1989 _Heart of Stone_ album.


End file.
